Out Of The Fire

by Heath Stallcup

  Hatcher agreed. “I think they have that tent under a vacuum or something. Look at the way the flap pulls in and the edges are sealed with Velcro or something.”

  “I’d bet that whatever they’re doing in there isn’t good,” Candy added.

  Mitch was belly-crawling back to the rear of the trailer and urging them along. “Stay low and stay quiet.” As he emerged from below the trailer, he pulled his weapon and released the safety. He checked the grounds one more time and took off at a sprint, Hatcher and Candy hot on his heels.

  Mitch came up beside the white tent and slowed, dropping low again. He stole a quick peek around the edge of the tent and waved the other two around with him. Being in close quarters now, he holstered his pistol and pulled a survival knife from his boot sheath. He crept along the edge of the tent, staying low as the sun began to rise behind them. Mitch cursed to himself, knowing that a rising sun could easily cast shadows along the sides of a canvas tent, he bent lower and increased his speed. He stopped at the edge of the white tent and poked his head out quickly, stealing a glance in both directions. With two more tents ahead of them and the coast clear, he waved his companions on and took off at a sprint.

  The trio shot between the two darker green tents and ran to the end of the canvas alleyway, ducking low and sliding behind a low stack of wooden crates. “The maintenance shack is right over there,” Hatcher whispered, pointing across the short expanse of clearing.

  Mitch wished his adrenaline would start pumping up again to help him clear his mind and give him the clarity of thought he’d always counted on when it came down to a life or death situation, but it wasn’t coming. Apparently, after all these years, his brain didn’t consider this an ample enough threat to dump the precious hormone into his system.

  He stole another glance and pulled back sharply. He signed to Hatcher there were two soldiers out there, but Hatcher had no idea how far away, what they were doing, what direction they were looking, or what their purpose might be. Mitch settled in and checked the sky again. With a slight shake of his head, he slowly eased his head out and checked once more. As more of Mitch’s body eased out, Hatcher felt surely the soldiers must have vacated the area, but Mitch held a hand out, staying them.

  Mitch slowly stepped out and away from the tents, his hand obviously motioning for Hatcher and Candy to stay put. Hatcher squatted lower and strained his ears for a moment, hoping to hear anything that might give him an idea of what was happening beyond the corner of the canvas.

  After a moment, Mitch returned with two M4 carbines and spare magazines, his knife returned to the sheath on his boot, blood obviously still on the blade. “Coast is clear now, but we need to move. Those guys may be missed soon.”

  The trio took off quickly, still staying low, and crossed into the small maintenance yard. “This way,” Hatch said softly as he took the lead. He sprinted to the back of the maintenance yard and around the corner of the building. As he rounded the corner, he noted the gate was locked and reached for the keys that he no longer possessed. “Dammit.”

  Mitch looked at the seven-foot wooden fence and the padlock on the gate. He pulled his survival knife once more and slipped it into the clasp of the gate. With a single upward movement, he popped the mechanism from the rough-cut cedar, screws and all. “Let’s move,” he whispered as he slipped the knife back.

  Hatcher glanced at the man and shook his head. “Remind me not to piss you off,” he mumbled.

  Hatcher fell in behind Candy and Mitch as they slipped into the woods and worked their way behind the ranger station and Visitor Center. “Second door,” Hatcher whispered as the trio came to a stop at two sets of steel doors.

  “Can’t we just kick it in?” Candy asked.

  “Steel reinforced,” Hatcher said. “We have bears out here, remember?”

  Mitch pulled his wallet out and retrieved two thin metal wire picks from the folds. Slinging the M4 over his shoulder, he went to work on the lock while Hatcher and Candy took up sentry duties. It took Mitch about thirty seconds to defeat the locks. “We’re in.”

  “That was fast.” Hatcher was honestly impressed.

  “Not really, brother. I’ve gotten rusty. Should’ve had that cheap lock in about ten seconds.”

  Mitch pulled his rifle around and Hatch took point. He turned the knob slowly and cracked the door open. Peering in, he noted that nobody was within eyesight and no shots were fired. He entered slowly, Mitch and Candy behind. Mitch shut the door quietly and relocked it to ensure no sentries came in to surprise them on their six.

  Hatcher motioned them to where the office was and the three spread out, doing their best to steer clear of the windows. They approached the office from three sides with Mitch coming right up the middle.

  They could hear someone inside, moving around and then something slammed down in anger. Hatch nodded to Mitch, who kicked the door open and leveled the M4 on the officer.

  The sudden action startled the Army officer and a squeal of surprise shocked all of them. Mitch stepped in farther, the M4 lowering slightly as his eyes took in the sight before him. Although his eyes were seeing it, his brain just wasn’t quite processing the information being sent to it. His jaw dropped slightly as he stared at the Army officer standing in front of him, shaking in fear.

  “Maggie?”

  Bob Jennings faded in and out of consciousness from under the bed he had made in what should have been the dining area of the motorhome. He had come to once and thought maybe he could pilot what was left of the coach down the mountain, but as soon as he tried to get off the bed, he swooned and his vision went black. He had fallen to the floor and got tangled in his own blanket. With an obvious fever, Bob used that lucid moment to gather what little energy he had and pulled himself under the mattress platform and crawled into the far corner, effectively hiding from the creatures that continued to beat on the walls and doors of the coach. He could hear Keri trying to scream in response to those outside and it broke his heart. He cried himself to sleep, praying that his son and that little girl…what was her name again…well, whatever it was, he prayed that they made it away from this madness.

  As he slipped into another guilt-infused sleep, he could have sworn he heard gunshots in the distance. He even heard a few bangs against the motorhome that sounded like someone was maybe striking it with a pipe. Hard.

  When a window broke, he felt for sure the end was near. The crazy, infected, rabid, zombie people would burst through at any moment and begin using him like a squeaky chew toy. He tried to pull himself into a tighter ball and realized he simply didn’t have the energy. Bob lay there, hidden under the bed, weeping in despair, when he heard human voices outside the coach. More gunshots and fewer screams, less beating along the walls, followed by more gunshots. He dared to hope that perhaps the cavalry had come when the door to the coach jerked open and a military style boot stepped into view.

  The automatic weapon sprayed the interior of the coach before the soldier even had a chance to see if anybody might still be human inside and Bob froze, afraid to even breathe. The matching boot came into view, followed by another. Eerie yellow lights reflected across the interior of the coach.

  “Front’s clear,” came a gruff-sounding voice.

  “Check the rear,” came another.

  Bob could see the boots as they walked to the rear of the coach and he desperately wanted to scream at them not to hurt his little girl, but fear paralyzed him.

  “Got a live one,” came the first voice again. “Doc still wanting specimens?” he asked.

  “Negative. He’s got enough now,” replied the second voice, the light from his rifle lighting the floor of the coach right beside the bed by where Bob hid.

  Bob flinched when two rounds were fired at the rear of the coach and the soldier walked back to the door. “No survivors,” he chuckled as he stepped out and jumped to the ground.

  “Yup. No survivors,” replied the second voice.

  The door to the coach was sla
mmed shut, and Bob continued to lay in the darkness under the bed for what seemed forever. He could feel the hot tears sliding down his cheeks as he remembered Keri’s birth, her first steps, her first words…images of her flashed through his mind as if on a photo slide show on high speed. His body shook as physical pain worked through him, racking his body with anguish.

  He had promised his little girl that daddy would make it all better. He had promised her he would get her to a doctor and they would fix it. He had promised her that it would all be okay. He had promised her that nobody would ever hurt her so long as he breathed because he was her daddy…and he had failed her. He had lain there, hiding under the bed like a scared child and let strange men come in and kill his daughter.

  Anger flared through him and he found himself clawing his way out from under the bed. He was breathing hard as he came to his knees and tried to catch his wind. He looked down at his shoulder and the bloodstained shirt he wore. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, and Bob honestly wondered if it wasn’t because he had actually run out of blood.

  He inhaled sharply and walked on his knees to the fridge. Jerking open the door, he pulled out two bottles of water. He opened them both and began drinking them as quickly as he could. He knew he needed to replenish his fluids, and while he didn’t have any IV bags available, this was the best he could do.

  Bob could feel the cool water running down the front of his chest and soaking his pants, but he didn’t care. Grabbing a third bottle, he cracked the top and began forcing himself to sip at it as he pulled himself to his feet. Fighting the urge to black out, he leaned against the countertop, then the walls of the coach as he worked his way back to Keri. He had to know for certain.

  As soon as he got to the doorway, he knew. He didn’t have to check for a pulse. The soldier had shot her at pointblank range through the head, her hair a splattered mess of bone, brain, and blood mixed with carpet.

  Bob felt his legs try to go out from under him, but he leaned against the wall of the RV once again and forced the water down. It tried twice to come up as the memory of his daughter’s demise came back to him, but he forced himself to hold it down.

  Bob worked his way back to the fridge and pulled the last remaining bottle from it. He knew most of the other three had helped, but just moving around the inside of the RV had taken so much of his energy. He pulled a couple of Keri’s candy bars and a granola bar from the top shelf and bit through the wrapper. Sugar, grains, anything to fuel him at this point, he’d take. He was a dad on a mission.

  He knew the odds were slim to nothing that he could avenge her death, and the odds of finding the same soldier that had actually pulled the trigger were near zero, but if he could take out one of the bastards before he bled out, or was killed by one of the zombies, he could die happy.

  Buck was starting to think that Skeeter had actually fallen asleep when she stirred and pulled away from him. He had held her while she cried, and he listened to the activity decrease, the noise levels dropping to near nothing. He heard the same truck he had watched come in earlier leave again, and now it was so quiet that it was nearly spooky. The park ranger laying on the ground near them had rolled to his side and had stopped snoring some time before, and now the sounds of the forest had Buck’s nerves on edge.

  As Skeeter pulled away, she wiped at his shirt and smiled at him. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. There’s been more than one time I’ve wanted to scream. Or cry,” he chuckled. “Or both.”

  “No, I meant for slobbering all over your shirt.” She sat up slightly, still wiping.

  Buck glanced down and shrugged. “No big deal. I’m so filthy, my mom would have a fit. A little drool and snot isn’t going to hurt anything.” He looked down and smiled at her.

  She smiled back, embarrassed, and wiped at her eyes. As Skeeter sat back, she noticed the woman’s feet that Buck had put down. “That is so creepy.”

  “I can’t exactly toss her off the edge over there. They might get suspicious if it started raining zombies.”

  “It just gives me the creeps,” she said again. “I mean, it’s a dead body and it’s right there.”

  “I know.” He pulled his bag over and dug in it. He came up with two more granola bars and handed one to Skeeter. “Breakfast?”

  She stared at him as if he had two heads. “There’s a dead body right there.”

  “I’d offer her one, but I only have two.” Buck held it out to her. “But if you’re not hungry—”

  Skeeter snatched the bar from his hand and began peeling the wrapper. “It’s just,” she paused and looked at the body again. “I dunno. Wrong, somehow.”

  “What is?”

  “To be eating right next to a body,” she said quietly.

  Buck nodded toward Fisher. “There’s a body,” he said, his mouth full of granola bar. “Doesn’t bother me a bit.”

  She shot him a ‘duh’ look. “That body isn’t dead.”

  He hiked his eyebrows at her. “You sure? He hasn’t snored in a while. Just tell yourself she’s napping.”

  “With an arrow in her head. Right.” Skeeter smirked and rolled her eyes.

  Buck shrugged. “Some people have a hard time falling asleep.” He shoved the last of the granola into his face and tossed the wrapper down.

  “Don’t litter.” She shot him the evil eye.

  Buck paused his chewing and glanced at her. He fought the smile trying to form across his face as he picked up the wrapper. “Yes, Mother,” he mumbled as he shoved the wrapper into his pocket.

  “You wouldn’t want a soldier to find it and know we were here, would you?” She gave him a knowing look.

  “I think the napping lady might be a dead giveaway.” He fought the urge to smirk.

  Skeeter stared at him and then turned her back to him to finish her granola. Buck stared at her a moment longer and finally threw his hands into the air in frustration. Women!

  Fisher stirred a bit and rolled over onto his broken arm, waking him with a start. He looked around the makeshift camp and stared wide-eyed at the two kids sitting near him. “What the hell is going on?”

  “You were asleep,” Buck said.

  “I know that.” Dwayne pulled himself up to a sitting position and cradled his arm. “The question is, who the hell are you, and why am I here?”

  “Well, let’s see. You broke your arm, the deputy set it. She had to dope you up, and you were about worthless after she did it, so we more or less babysat your butt,” Buck stated.

  Fisher shot him a sideways glance. “And you are?”

  “Buck. That’s Skeeter.” He pointed to the young girl who was still giving him the cold shoulder. “And keep your voice down. We’re sort of hiding.”

  “Really?” Fisher replied in disbelief. “From who?”

  Skeeter turned and gave him a dirty look. “From the Army.”

  “The Army’s here? Sweet,” he said, trying to stand.

  “Not sweet.” Buck stood and tried to get Fisher to lower his stance. “They’re not here to help.”

  “Oh, really?” Fisher did his best to tower over the kids. “And who put you in charge?”

  “Daniel did.” Buck squared off against the large, red-haired man. “He and that really huge black guy, Mitch, are down there right now with a lady cop trying to capture the colonel of the Army and force him to stop being a dick.”

  “Kid, you’ve been reading too many comic books.” Fisher shook his head in disbelief.

  “He’s telling you the truth,” Skeeter all but shouted in a loud whisper. “Now, please, get down or they might see us.”

  “I’m not going to get down. If anything, I’m going to work my way back to the ranger station and see if I can assist.”

  “You’ll be shot before you get anywhere close,” Buck said.

  “Now I know you’re nuts,” Fisher said. “The Army doesn’t just come in to a national park, guns blazing, and start shooting at people.”

  Bark from the tree
next to Fisher erupted a moment before the report from the shot sounded. The splinters showered the back of his neck and head and he instinctively ducked. He rose back up again, his hands raised as much as he could with his arm wrapped, while he yelled, “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We’re not infected!”

  Dwayne Fisher’s shoulder exploded as the next round ripped through the muscle, bone, and sinew. He was in mid-turn as the third round entered the back of his head, effectively removing the front of his face. He was dead before his body hit the ground, the pain from the shot to his shoulder never having a chance to register with his brain before it was destroyed with high-velocity, copper-jacketed lead.

  Skeeter, to her credit, didn’t scream as Buck grabbed her arm and pulled her through the brush toward the edge of the lookout he had stared at the station from. He wasn’t sure exactly where the soldiers were, but he knew they had to be out toward the road for the shots to have hit Fisher where they did. That meant he was going to run the other direction, and that direction lead toward the ranger station.

  As Skeeter followed, Buck’s mind reeled. He knew that to be caught anywhere near the station by soldiers would mean a bullet, but to stay where they were meant the same thing. He saw the disturbed ground where Daniel and the others had slid down the hill and he quickly pulled Skeeter after him.

  “You ever play baseball?”

  “No, why?” She thought he must be crazy to ask such a stupid question at a time like this.

  “Because we’re about to go on the world’s longest slide into second base!” he huffed as the pair ran to the same spot and he pulled her after him.

  With his right leg in front and his left leg tucked under him, Buck did his best to slide down the steep, rocky hill while tugging Skeeter along with him. The moment they hit the ground, Buck was pulling her behind him as he sprinted across the compound and over the parking lot to the ranger station. The entire time, he prayed that Hatcher and his people had already taken the station and had the Army leader in handcuffs, or this was going to be a very short escape.